


Out of It

by Rawrbin



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Capture, Concussions, Escape, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nudity, Pain, Vomiting, sick, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rawrbin/pseuds/Rawrbin
Summary: These are the facts he can tell for now. He's suspended by his arms above him, in such a way that only the balls of his feet brush the floor. The floor is cold and hard, possibly concrete. He could be anywhere, a basement, a warehouse, a prison… no way to tell yet, he'll need to collect more information. But he's a master detective, he'll figure everything out eventually.His whole body hurts - he was probably in a fight recently. A fight that he didn't win apparently. His head is also killing him and he's struggling to remember things - it is very possible he has a concussion.----Tim wakes up after a fight, tied up and concussed. He's going to have to get his brain and body back in working order quickly if he wants to free himself and Nightwing. Unfortunately concussions are not very conducive to escape plans...
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 105





	Out of It

The only thing Tim is aware of as he hazily regains consciousness is that his head hurts. Really hurts. He wants it to stop hurting. 

Why does it hurt?

He tries to remember, but trying to access his memories feels like fighting his way through a dense fog. He can't recall anything. Not even where he is or how he got there. He still has enough brain function remaining right now to realize that opening his eyes and looking around could help with that problem, but he can't summon the strength to lift his leaden eyelids. Can't do anything besides let his head hang and groan and wish that it would. Stop. Hurting. 

Suddenly he hears a noise. Maybe someone is speaking. Maybe even speaking to him, but he can't find the energy to care. It pulls him a bit out of his head though, the recognition that he's not alone but in a space with other people (person?). It makes him realize that his head isn't the only thing that hurts. As he becomes more aware of his body, he feels every inch of it screaming, especially his shoulders which are on _fire_. He lets out another pained groan. What is happening to him? 

He hears the voice again, sounds like it might be saying his name, but he can't focus on it, can't focus on anything but _pain_. He wants to lay down, go to sleep, do anything to relieve the pain drowning him, but he can't. His body won't cooperate, it seems stuck, pulled tight like a wire. He realizes his feet are barely touching the ground, the balls of them barely making contact when he jerks his body. 

That is a mistake because it sends another river of flames through his shoulder and an aching pain through his skull that makes it feel as if something is going to burst out of him. Belatedly he realizes something _is_ bursting out of him- he feels the acidic taste in his mouth before coughing and projecting sick out of his dipped head onto the floor below him. Tears well up in the corners of his eyes at the force of it, his raw throat now being added to the laundry list of hurt his body is experiencing. He wants to sob and scream and for whatever is happening to him to just _end_ , but he can't find the energy. He can't even find the energy to spit and try to clear the remainder of the sour taste in his mouth. Instead he focuses on trying to _breathe,_ even as he feels the remaining vomit mix with saliva and drool out of his open mouth as he pants. 

Tim tries to focus. He needs to calm down to get out of this situation. He tries to remember the breathing techniques Batman taught him. That's right- Batman. He works with the Batman. He's Robin. 

No that's not right. 

He's not Robin. Not anymore. He's Red Robin. He's Red Robin and he's a crime fighter, and now he's… tied up somewhere. Yes, it finally clicks in his mind. He's being suspended by his wrists with what feels like heavy metal chains. He must have been captured. But how did he get in this situation? Tim tries to remember but remembering is difficult and makes his skull pound and makes him feel like he might be sick again, so he gives up. Tries to focus on the present instead. 

These are the facts he can tell for now. He's suspended by his arms above him, in such a way that only the balls of his feet brush the floor. The floor is cold and hard, possibly concrete. He could be anywhere, a basement, a warehouse, a prison… no way to tell yet, he'll need to collect more information. But he's a master detective, he'll figure everything out eventually. 

His whole body hurts - he was probably in a fight recently. A fight that he didn't win apparently. His head is also killing him and he's struggling to remember things - it is very possible he has a concussion. 

Suddenly he's reminded of another clue. Someone is still babbling at him. He isn't alone. Tim tries to focus on the voice but it's really difficult for some reason. His brain still isn't really on board. He thinks he hears _Red Robin_ but it's so hard to focus. 

He needs more information though. Vision could be helpful. If he could _see_ his surroundings it would be much easier to deduce where he is and who he's with than by merely brushing the floor with his toes. He takes a deep breath and wills his heavy eyelids open. 

The shine of a thousand suns permeates his retinas and he immediately regrets his decision, whimpering as he slams his eyes back shut with force. Why is the room he's in so damn bright?!

Tim takes some more steadying breaths. He can still make out his name, so he feels it's imperative to get a handle on the situation. He needs to try again. 

Slowly - very slowly - he cracks his eyes again. It's bright, but he adjusts and little by little they open. The world is still blurry, but finally his eyes adjust. The first thing he sees is - 

"Dick?" 

There's a dick in front of him. A very nice looking one. It's surrounded by some neatly trimmed black hair, and framed by some very well-toned thighs. Tim stares at it. Why is he looking at a dick? He feels confused and it makes his head start hurting again, so he closes his eyes. 

Maybe he'll take a nap. Yeah that sounds nice. 

"TIM!" 

Tim jerks. Pain flashes through his body again and he whimpers. Why is this happening to him? The voice is yelling at him again. 

" _You need to wake up. Don't go to sleep_!"

Wake up? Is he asleep? Is this a dream? He cracks his eyes open again. That nice dick is still there. It certainly looks like something he would dream about. He's had nice dreams about similar things before. Though usually those dreams didn't involve this much pain. 

Belatedly he realizes it's not just a dick he is staring at. Glancing up he notices that above the dick are some abs. Some very nice abs. And a cute little belly button. If this _is_ a dream, he wonders if he'll get to touch them later. 

Dragging his gaze up he sees it's not just abs either. Above that are some nicely defined pecs, a perky nipple adorning each one. Tim's tongue darts out of its own volition to lick his lip, which is regrettable because it still tastes like sick. 

Finally his mind puts things together. What he's looking at is not a dick with some nice abs. The dick, the thighs, the abs, the chest, they are all attached together as part of something. A person. There is a person in front of him. An adult human male. 

They don't call him a master detective for nothing. 

Looking up farther would require lifting his head, which he doesn't have the strength for, so he looks down instead. He's met with the sight of feet barely touching the floor, balanced on their balls just like his. The other man must also be restrained by his arms like Tim. 

He rakes his eyes back up over the other man, or what he can see of him. The way his body is pulled taut by the chains is making all of his muscles bulge out in a delicious way. 

A shiver runs through him that has nothing to do with the pain he's feeling. It's not enough to completely distract him from the ache covering his body, but it helps. 

The voice is talking to him again. No, not the voice, the man. The man is talking to him. He's speaking in much softer tones than before. He seems to really want to communicate with him, so Tim tries to focus again. 

" _Tim. Timmy. Hey, you're awake right? You gotta stay awake buddy. Can you hear me? Come on pal you gotta wake up, we need to get out of here_." 

He knows that voice but he can't place it. It's like there's a blockade in his brain preventing him from piecing things together. 

With a gargantuan effort he lifts his head to find out what face is attached to that body and dick. 

Even with a mask Tim still recognizes him immediately. It's Nightwing. His older brother, Dick Grayson. 

Dick. 

dick. 

Oh shit. He's just been oggling his older brother. 

Tim doesn't have much time to dwell on it though, because his head did not enjoy being moved apparently. Pain radiates out through the back of his skull, and he cries out as his head drops, while his stomach is rolling again and soon his throat is burning. Some of it splashes on top of his foot this time. A distressed whimper escapes him. 

"Hey Tim, whoa. Just take some deep breaths okay? You're going to be okay."

Tim tries to focus on the command. Pulling up memories is hard but the breathing techniques Bruce taught him are instinctual by now and he slips into them easily. As he breathes he tries to pull his focus together and put his detective skills to use to figure out what's happening. Dick still had his mask on, so they must have been captured by someone who didn't know their identities (and didn't know how to deactivate the shock system that zapped anyone who tried to remove them). Tim assumes he must have his mask on too but with his head currently a throbbing ball of pain he can't really make it out. He realizes suddenly that, like Dick, he is also naked. They must be dealing with at least a somewhat intelligent villain if they were smart enough to rid them of their gear and therefore means of escape and attack. Either that or the villain was just a pervert. Also, Dick had been calling him Tim, so wherever they're tied up they must be alone now. 

With all the information he could gather now processed, he focuses his attention back to his breathing. 

"You okay Timmy? Don't fall back asleep, okay?"

"Nn." Tim grunts, not daring to lift his head or look at Dick again just yet. He replies with the only thing that is on his mind right now. "My head hurts." 

"I know it does Tim, it must. You got punched in the head like… a lot. I'm pretty sure you have a concussion Timmy."

"Oh." Well that explains a lot. He can't remember being punched though. But that is probably due to being concussed. "What happened?" 

"There were a bunch of them. We got jumped suddenly. They took me down and had me cuffed before we knew what was happening. I'm so sorry Timmy. You were fighting tooth and nail to try and save me. Refused to go down. You… got beaten a lot. You didn't stop fighting them until they knocked you unconscious." 

Tim grunts in acknowledgement even though he can't remember any of that. He wants to know more though. Needs _something_ to focus on rather than his pounding head and burning shoulders. 

"Where are we now?" 

"Not a hundred percent sure but some kind of storage room in a warehouse they've got. They took our gear and our suits when we arrived."

Tim hums in response, and Dick continues. "I need you to stay awake now Timmy, can you do that? I need your help to get us out of here."

Tim hums again. He likes the idea of getting out of here. His body craves nothing more than to lay down and take a long long nap. Tied up as they are and without gear though, the whole escape thing seems difficult. 

"How?" 

"Can you open your eyes Timmy? I can show you."

Tim whines a little as the light hits his sensitive eyes again, but eventually manages to open them. 

"Look over there _."_ Tim looks behind Dick, and sees a table in the corner of the mostly barren concrete room they're in. Dick must have seen it when the thugs brought them into the room because as he is now there's no way he could have turned to face it. The top of the table is bare but under the table Tim spies something that looks suspiciously like a tool box. There is probably something in there that Dick could use to pick the cuff locks. It was one of the many skills he had perfected and by now he could do it with practically any tool. 

There is one large flaw in Dick's plan though. 

"Isn't it a bit… far away?" 

As it was Dick could barely move an inch in either direction, let alone the 10 feet needed to make it to the corner of the room. 

"Look up _._ " 

Tim groans. Looking up is about the lowest on the list of things he wants to do right now. Right on par with getting punched in the head again or getting kicked in the nuts. If it's for their freedom though he'll make an effort. 

Ever so slowly he tips his head back. When it's lifted enough to see Dick's face he spots his odd grimace that screams that he wants Tim to hurry up but also doesn't want to rush him. 

Tim takes a deep breath and forces his gaze skyward. 

His head swims and his vision blurs again, but after another deep breath to regain focus he can start to see Dick's plan coming together. 

Tim had concluded before, without the visual evidence, that he and Dick were both chained up and suspended. What he hadn't noticed was that the two of them were chained _together_ \- one of them at each end of a long chain which reaches up over the metal support beams above each of their heads and then twists around a center beam. 

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply as he lowers his head back down so he can look at Dick without spilling his guts again. As his brain is gaining clarity the throbbing of his shoulder muscles and the aches around his ribs are making themselves more pronounced, not to mention the painful tension kept in his calf muscles from being up on his toes. He hopes whatever plan Dick has can be enacted quickly because he's not sure how much more he can take. 

"So if we give the chain more slack on your end you can reach the box?" It's a question but it's not. He knows that's the plan. "But, how?" 

Dick just looks at him for a moment, as if it should be obvious. 

"What?" Tim asks, feeling annoyance on top of the pain. "I have a concussion here Nightwing, throw me a bone."

"You're going to have to climb up _."_ Dick tells him, like an insane person. "Once you reach the top, if you throw your slack while I pull we should be able to pull it to my end." 

"And how exactly do you expect me to climb up there?" Tim asks him, still fighting the irritation. Even lifting his head is enough effort to do him in right now. There's no way he can climb up ten feet of metal chain. 

"You're Red Robin, you can do anything." Dick continues, sounding a bit too positive for Tim's liking. "I examined your injuries. Your ribs seem bruised but I don't think they're broken, otherwise you'd be having more difficulty breathing. I know it'll be a little tough, but if you curl up you can get your foot wrapped around the chain, then you can climb up."

Tim flushes at the implication that Dick had been examining his nude body. It distracts him for a moment before the full weight of the plan he just heard hits him. Curl up. As in, go full acrobat Dick Grayson style and fold himself in half using his ab muscles while fighting against gravity. It would be difficult, but not impossible, on a good day. Now… 

"You CAN do it, Tim," Dick says, seemingly reading his mind. "It's going to be difficult. And it is going to hurt probably. But I know you can do it. You have to _."_

Tim groans. Dick's right. It's the only way out. Or, Tim believes it must be the only way out. Dick's competent enough to have had found other options if they existed. In his current state Tim doesn't have the liberty of checking for himself. 

"Okay," he finally accepts. "Just… give me a minute." He needs time to mentally steel himself for this. Because Dick is right. It _is_ going to hurt, no matter what. He takes some deep breaths, tries to meditate, to forget his pain. It's not really possible unfortunately, what with the way his entire being seems to be throbbing with it, and mediation has never been his strong suit anyways. The pain does seem to ebb a little though and he decides he's ready to try. 

Tim takes a deep breath, mentally counts to three, and then starts flexing his abs as he exhales, curling up, his feet rising off the floor. 

He screams. 

The second his feet leave the floor all their support is gone, pulling his full body weight down on his already abused shoulders. The pain of it ripples down his body like fire in his muscles, bleeding out into his bruised ribs. 

He drops his feet back down instantly, accidently stepping in his earlier mess but not caring because right now he's just desperate to do anything to relieve the ripping pain in his shoulders. A small sob escapes him and he thinks he may be sick again as he gags, but nothing comes out. 

He can hear Dick cooing across from him, uttering soothing words or maybe encouragement but Tim can't focus on that now. He just breathes. Breathes and breathes and breathes. Wills the pain away. It doesn't seem to want to. 

Eventually it ebbs enough that he can focus on Nightwing again. He really wants to get out of here, but they're going to need a new plan. 

"I can't," he starts, but Dick cuts him off. 

"You can Timmy. You have to." 

Dick must be drugged because no sober person would think that.

"It's impossible. You saw what just happened." 

"I know. I know it hurts. But you have to bear with it. Look around us, there's no other way. Trust me, if there was any other way I wouldn't ask you to do this." 

Tim exhales deeply. He knows Dick is right. But his body hurts so much. He's been hurt worse before, he's sure, but his mind doesn't want to cooperate right now which is making things so much more difficult. Damn concussion. Maybe he needs to start wearing a helmet like Jason. 

"Alright. I'm going to try again." 

"Good boy Timmy. I know you can do it."

"I might puke on myself." 

"That's okay. You can take a bath once we get home. I'll still carry you back even if you're covered in vomit." 

Tim groans. Somehow the thought of Dick dragging his unconscious, puke-covered body home is really unappealing. He'll do what he has to do to get out of here though. 

Steeling himself again, Tim tries to prepare himself for the pain that's about to come. Finally he goes for it, no countdown this time. 

The pain is back instantly the second his toes leave the floor. The only good thing that can be said about the pain in his shoulders though it's that it makes any pain in his abdominals negligible. Instead of dropping back to the floor this time he curls up as Dick instructed, doing so as quickly as his core muscles allow him, and gets his feet up to the chains. His body is going into panic mode from the pain as he desperately tries to get a solid grasp with his feet, made slippery from where he stepped in sick earlier. He cries out in agony and only the thought of going through this pain a third time keeps him from dropping back to the floor. Finally he manages to get the chain wrapped around his ankle, and the relief is pulled off his shoulders. 

Tim closes his eyes and sucks in deep breaths as the burning pressure on his shoulders is finally relieved. Hanging half upside-down from his ankle is not particularly comfortable either, but he needs a moment to calm down and give his sore shoulder muscles a rest before he can go any farther. 

As he focuses on his breathing he is belatedly reminded of the fact that he is still naked, and shit, wow, yeah, literally everything is on display right at Dick's eye level right now. His face flushes, though he's sure it's already red from exertion anyways. He wants to ask Dick not to look, but he also doesn't want to fully acknowledge the situation. 

Evidently unaware of Tim's mini crisis going on, Dick chooses that moment to speak. 

"Come on Timmy, don't stop now. You can do it. Keep going!" 

Tim let's out another deep breath but doesn't respond. He doesn't have the energy to. Dick is right though, they need to hurry this escape up. One more minute of rest is not going to be enough to do anything for his battered body, so he may as well keep powering through it. He curls this body up again and it's still painful but a bit easier this time now that his full body weight isn't resting on his shoulders. Once he has both his feet and his arms around the chain it's a bit easier to make his way up. Still not _easy,_ but easier. Batman has made him climb plenty of ropes and chains during their training, but it's much harder to do when you're concussed, beaten, and tied to the damn thing. 

Finally, after what seems like forever, Tim makes it to the top. Distantly he hears Dick applauding him. He pulls himself up onto the support beam and all but collapses on it, relishing in the feeling of the cool metal against his battered body and sore muscles. 

It feels so nice and soothing. 

He could fall asleep right here. 

" _Tim!"_

Shit. Tim jerks his eyes open. He hadn't even noticed he'd started to close them. He still has one more job to do. He turns to look down at Dick, and feels a bit guilty when he sees him still hanging there, clearly in discomfort. A wave of relief appears on Dick's face when he sees that Tim _didn't_ in fact climb all the way to the top only to fall asleep. 

Hurriedly Tim grabs the chain and starts tossing the slack on his end over the middle support beam. Below him Dick gives a tug and the extra length allows him to drop down. Tim sees his legs give out underneath him though as the older vigilante collapses to the floor. 

He feels extra guilty now. Nightwing must have been in great pain too but was hiding it for his sake. And he made him wait longer than necessary by almost taking a nap up here. He can make out Dick's grimace as he massages the cramps out of his calf muscles. It reminds him that his own calves are burning and oh yeah, so is most of the rest of his body. He does a mental check to make sure there is no other part of this escape plan that was his responsibility, and after concluding that he has done his job satisfactorily, allows himself to close his eyes and let the darkness of dreamland pull him away from this hell. 

* * *

_Bam._

_Bam. Bam!_

Tim groans. What is making that noise? Don't they know he's trying to sleep here?

Wherever "here" is. 

He slowly blinks his eyes open ( _God it's so bright, why?!)_ , and looks around for the noise. It seems to be coming from below him. Huh. He turns his head and looks down. Apparently he's up high somewhere. How did he get there? And huh. There's a naked guy below him. He's in the process of fighting a bunch of non-naked dudes dressed in black, each punch of his first making a loud thwacking sound which echoes through the room. So that's what that sound was. Naked guy punching people. That's funny. He can't even be mad at that. He lets his eyes fall shut again and promptly resumes his nap. 

* * *

_"Red Robin. Red! Come on, wake up!"_

Tim groggily cracks his eyes open. Had he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered he had been in the middle of a very painful escape attempt. 

Everything is still blurry but he can make out Nightwing's masked face above him. Suddenly another wave of nausea hits him and he tries to roll to the side only to be stopped by Nightwing firmly grabbing his shoulders and holding him in place. He whines at the jerkiness of it and swallows down the small amount of bile that had managed to come up. 

"Trust me, you want to hold still right now." 

Glancing to the side Tim realizes the importance of Nightwing's actions. They were both currently balanced precariously on a steel beam which was much farther up in the air than Tim had any desire to fall from. The fact that Tim had apparently managed to fall asleep here both stuns and scares him. 

Nightwing helps him slowly sit up and Tim winces as even slight movement causes pain to ripple up through his bruised ribs and his concussed skull. He rests his head against Nightwing's shoulder and focuses on taking deep breaths. 

"Give me your wrists." 

Huh? Tim looks down and realizes his hands are still bound in the heavy chain. He lifts them as much as he can and Dick wiggles something small and sharp in the lock for a moment before he hears it click and he's finally free. 

"Thanks," he mumbles, rubbing softly at the tender skin of his wrists. Damn he took a lot of injuries on this one. And he didn't even know what this one was. He couldn't remember anything from the supposed fight. 

"Can you climb down?" Dick asks him, wrapping the end of the chain around their beam and locking it in place before tugging on the other end to create a way down. Looking around Tim wonders how Dick got up there. There's no way he could have climbed across on the chain without pulling Tim down. And considering their lack of uniforms and gear, unless he'd been hiding a grapple up his butt the whole time there's no way he could have made it. Speaking of uniforms… 

"Where did you get pants from?" Tim was sure that Dick had been naked earlier. Maybe that part had just been a dream? Suddenly Tim's face feels hot. He hopes he hasn't just outed himself to his brother as a pervert. 

"From one of the guards," Nightwing replies. Tim feels both relieved to know he hadn't been dreaming that and confused. 

"What guar-" following Dick's gaze down Tim sees at least ten battered and unconscious henchmen below them. One was missing his pants. "Oh. When did they-" 

"While you were asleep," Nightwing answers shortly. "And we need to hurry out of here before more come. Can you climb down by yourself?" 

Tim swallows. He isn't sure if he can, honestly. Every part of him aches and even the smallest motions make his head spin. But taking in Dick's appearance he doesn't think he has any option but to try. The older vigilante is definitely looking worse for the wear and is sporting some nasty bruises that Tim is sure weren't there when he'd been tied up earlier. He feels a pang of guilt run through him knowing he'd left his partner to fight all the bad guys on his own while he was sleeping. He swallows. 

"Yeah. I can try," his instinct is to nod in agreement, but he holds it back knowing that would not do good things for his head right now. 

"Alright, I'm going down first. Follow me immediately. Don't fall back asleep."

Tim wants to groan but just murmurs a quiet agreement and tries to prepare himself for the journey ahead. 

After Nightwing starts Tim follows him, albeit with difficulty. He keeps his feet wrapped around the chain, willing himself not to slip. His shoulders and ribs and head and _everything_ protest at the movement but he keeps his grip steady and keeps slowly inching down the chain. He focuses on not falling over speed, though he acknowledges they may be slightly related in this case because he's not sure how long his strength will last. 

About halfway down it dawns on him that while Nightwing may have acquired pants, he is still stark ass naked, meaning that if the other vigilante looks up at all during their descent he's going to get a facefull of Red Robin's junk. Tim flushes and has half a mind to just let go of the chain right there, but he restrains himself. It may be a while before he can patrol with Nightwing again though. Or look Dick Grayson in the eye. 

Dick finally makes it to the ground and he was either looking down the whole time or has seen enough Robin balls in his day to not be bothered by it, because he doesn't look put off at all. He even reaches up to grab Tim's waist to help guide him the rest of the way down. 

Unfortunately Tim was not expecting this, and the sudden touch startles him. Before he knows what's happening his feet lose their already weak grip on the chain and he's falling. Dick manages to catch him easily, but with his concussion even the few foot drop is enough to shake Tim up. He feels his stomach roll again as he's overcome with vertigo, his head and stomach screaming simultaneously as the world starts spinning and his body is collapsing. Dick is supporting him, keeping him upright, and Tim is trying to focus on the soothing words of the other man, but his brain can't latch on to them. He can't focus on anything except the spinning in his head, the churning in his stomach, and the unbearable pain. Suddenly, everything goes black. 

* * *

Tim blinks awake slowly. Taking stock of his body, he finds it to be in much better condition than the last time he was awake. Something soft and fluffy is cradling his sore head now. He lets out a sigh of relief when the world finally comes into focus and sees the familiar site of his bedroom in Wayne Manor. 

"How you feeling Timmy?" 

Tim startles and turns to see Dick sitting in an armchair near his bed. He flushes a bit, wondering how long his older brother has been patiently guarding his bedside waiting for him to wake up. Tim starts to sit up but thinks better of it when his ribs protest and lays back down instead, gingerly placing a hand over his bruised side. 

"Better. My head's stopped spinning anyways. And a lot less pain. How did I…?" Tim starts to ask, though he already knows the answer. 

"I carried you." Dick beams. 

Tim flushes. 

"Did I…?" He doesn't know how to put it into words so he makes some vague gestures, but Dick seems to have a knack for picking up on Tim's questions without him needing to finish them.

"Puke all over yourself? Yeah. Not one of the best smelling rescues I've done." Dick laughs but Tim is mortified. He buries his face in his hands. 

"I'm sorry." He squeaks out. He can't believe Dick had to actually carry him like that. 

"It's ok. A concussion will do that to you. Don't worry about it." 

"So am I..?" Tim starts to ask, knowing Bruce's policy about head injuries. 

"Benched for the foreseeable future until B thinks you aren't at risk for permanent brain damage? You betcha!" Dick is still smiling but it has a sympathetic look to it now. 

"Great." Tim says flatly. 

"Don't worry Timmy," Dick says flopping onto the bed next to him and gingerly wrapping his arms around his waist, being careful to avoid his bruises. "I'll be here the whole time taking care of you until you can go out again." 

Dick beams up at him and Tim thinks maybe this concussion thing wasn't so bad afterall. 

  
  



End file.
